‘He proposed!’ she shouts.
‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ I say. ‘One fake date and he’s in the bag. Good on you.’
‘Congratulations,’ says Cait more quietly.
‘More later, the kids are staring at my ring,’ Sophie says, as we hear the chatter of children in the background.
‘Isn’t that wonderful news?’ I say to Cait.
‘Yes,’ says Cait. ‘I suppose the wedding will be nice, although, sadly, we’ll be in prison.’
‘Oh, you little cloud of gloom,’ I say. ‘Of course we won’t.’
I drive Cait to Muswell Hill explaining all about the identity of the dead man. The fact that he’s a disgraced policeman, had my address in his home, that the police are now actively searching for him, and they’ve already been to my house, all seems to make Cait feel jittery. When I explain that the Toyota is his stolen car, we have to stop on Bishop’s Avenue while she leans out and vomits. I expect it’s the guilt.
We go to Sable d’Or for a quick cup of sweet tea to put her right and then head for the library to conduct some research. I leave Cait at the bank of computers next to an old man who keeps asking her what a mouse is and head for the self-help section.
After forty-five minutes of reading a book about how to save your marriage, Cait appears and sits next to me on the stained foam sofa.
‘He wasn’t a nice man,’ she says. ‘A long-serving Met officer in the Serious and Organized Crimes Command. Multiple disciplinary issues. He was suspended pending his trial for sexual harassment and assault, bribery, fraud, and witness intimidation.’
‘But why was he in Muswell Hill, and what was he doing in my house?’
‘No idea,’ says Cait. ‘But I know why they’re so keen to find him. The Met is facing criticism for letting him get away with it for so long. They wanted to set an example, and now he’s on the loose.’
‘That’s good news,’ I say.
‘How is this good news?’ says Cait. ‘They think you’re his girlfriend. One search warrant and they’ll find evidence that he died in your living room.’
‘Think about it, Cait, it’s actually perfect. He’s disappeared because of the trial, right? No one’s wondering why he’s gone missing, and they’ll never find him anyway. They’ll think he made it to the Costa del Sol.’
‘At the moment, they think he made it to your house.’
‘Did I tell you that they’d had an anonymous tip-off too?’
‘About what?’
‘Someone told the police that they’d seen Mercer at my house.’
‘But he had your address anyway.’
‘Whoever blabbed didn’t know that, did they?’ I say.
‘Why are you staring at me?’ she says. ‘You don’t think it was me, do you?’
‘Well, who else could it be, Cait?’
Cait throws down her notebook and leaves in a mood, slamming the library door – which pleases no one. From her carefully handwritten notes, I find out that Mercer has three children from three different relationships, was a gambler, drinker, and philanderer as well as a serial sex attacker and bully. He wasn’t working on a case as he’d been suspended for over four months. He was either making a living as a burglar or he was a serial sex offender looking for his next victim. Perhaps he was trying to kill two birds with one stone.
I leave the library feeling an overwhelming sense of moral pride that I dispatched him so forcefully.
Chapter24Aimée
Later in the afternoon, thinking of ways to inspire my husband to feel more positive about the house purchase, I head upstairs to see Aimée. Love is a strategy to keep people close to you, and to make those you use feel that their support has value, but even love needs to be sweetened sometimes. My approach might be unconventional, but treats work with dogs, so why not husbands?
As I walk past our bathroom, I hear the sound of water running and glance sideways. The door is ajar and I see Aimée’s on the toilet scrolling through her phone.
I open my mouth to speak. She looks up at me. No change in her facial expression, no surprise, no embarrassment. I think, fundamentally, it’s laziness rather than a political statement.
